Family Reunion
by companionenvy
Summary: After "Not Fade Away," Connor and Spike try to solve a mystery in L.A. Post-series; not comic compliant.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Angel is owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

**Chapter 1**

Knowing, Connor had learned, was not the same as remembering. He could track, and hunt, and if Stanford ever started giving degrees in the flora and fauna of hell dimensions, he'd be set for life. He could tell anyone who still cared to know what Holtz's favorite book of the Bible had been (Daniel; Holtz hadn't been as big on fire and brimstone as one might have assumed), and what Cordelia Chase looked like without makeup or a hairbrush, just after getting out of bed. When he pulled up the record of her death, he was even sorry, but it was a distant sorrow, that pain, deeper than pity and gentler than grief, that he had felt couple of years ago when he had happened upon the obituary of a second grade teacher he had liked, long ago. And when he thought of Holtz, it was with nothing more complicated than the horror at what someone raised in California in the 1990s could only call abuse. Holtz, Connor suspected, would have called it love, of a sort, but that wasn't a word the 18th century zealot had used often, at least not in that way, and nothing in Connor Reilly's experience had prepared him to accept something so compromised and ambivalent as part of its definition.

On that last day, Angel had told him that the Reillys really were his parents in every meaningful way; Wolfram & Hart actually was that good, and the spell hadn't merely written over memories, but altered reality to accomodate his existence. The choices he remembered making as a child were still his choices; he had been given a new start, not a guarantee. Angel had said it to be kind, but there was also some part of him, Connor thought, that hoped that he needed the reassurance, that he would argue or raise doubts, insist that, on some fundamental level, the Reillys and 18 happy years were nothing but a lie that Connor had needed for a time and had now outgrown. Connor, however, hadn't been lying when he said that his life and his family were still real to him. The metaphysics of his existence didn't mean much compared to a lifetime of birthdays and first days of school and family game nights.

No, it wasn't the last 18 years that bothered him at all. It was the thought of the next. He knew what both of his fathers would tell him: finish college, become a doctor or lawyer - well maybe not a lawyer, in Angel's case - or any number of useful and worthy and utterly ordinary things. In a way, it was what Connor wanted as well. But if the knowledge he had gained when the spell broke, whatever its limits, couldn't be so easily denied, and when Connor thought now of the life he had been planning, it seemed like a betrayal, of whom he couldn't quite have said. In his more optimistic or, perhaps, more self-delusive moments, he told himself it was simple altruism; a lot of people could be good doctors, but very few had Connor's particular skill set, and he was obligated to use them for something. At other times, he thought it was just arrogance; the sense that his desiny couldn't possibly be onfined to a single battle he had won without conscious thought or effort.

In any case, it was a moot point. Connor had tried patrolling the streets, stake in hand, after dark, but Palo Alto was a quiet town, apparently no more liable to demonic than to human troubles. Becoming a superhero was not, Connor was learning, something one simply signed up for one day. Even if he moved to the city, he wouldn't know where to start: lone vigilante was hardly a career choice, and Wolfram & Hart was decidedly not hiring. So the stake went back in the top desk drawer, and Connor to his books.

Which was why, by the time it happened, he was totally and completely unprepared. The knock came late, too late for any responsible and newly solitary adult (Connor had moved off campus to his own apartment that year) to answer. Connor's response was instinctive, however; back in the dorms, a suitemate coming home keyless in th early morning hours was a common enough occurence.

What was a less common occurence was opening the door to an older, bleach-blond stranger holding a near empty bottle of Jack Daniels, staring at Connor with far too much focus for someone as drunk as Connor supposed he was.

"Hello pup," said the man, who spoke with an English accent. "What, no invite for your old nephew?"

Connor looked at the man again. A memory - a real one, this time - flashed before him: the blue-haired woman who was and was not Fred, fighting with the man in front of him.

"You worked for Angel," said Connor.

"I worked _with_ Angel," said the man, "when the bloody ponce could bring himself to let me. But yeah, we were close. Thick as thieves." He took a swig from the bottle. "Well, as thick as people who thieved now and then after the massacre was done. That good enough for the invite?"

The penny dropped. "You're a _vampire_?"

The man waved. "Hello."

Connor stared. The man - vampire - had called him his _nephew_. "Angel sired you?"

"Grandsired, but close enough. Name's Spike."

"And I should be inviting you in why, exactly?"

"Because if I wanted you dead, I wouldn't need to step over the welcome mat to do it." Spike's tone had taken on a harder edge but not, Connor thought, a threatening one. He continued, "Besides, I've got a soul."

"Angel's the only vampire with a soul."

"And now I am. Funny, how that works."

Connor hesitated. Spike was definitely drunk and probably lying, but apparently, Angel had trusted him at least enough to let him in the door, and, after all, potential assassains didn't generally take the time to knock, or so he assumed.

"Come in, then."

Spike entered, taking in the bare room. Most of Connor's things were still in boxes in the closet. It had been four months, but somehow, he hadn't found the time.

"Love what you've done with the place," said Spike.

Connor moved toward the desk, hand on the top drawer, but he didn't go for the stake.

"If you've finished criticizing my decorating, maybe you can tell me what happened to Angel. You said you're the only one left. So he's...?"

"Fear in a handful of dust," said Spike. He waited for a response. "I'm sorry," he offered when Connor didn't answer

"No, it's okay, " began Connor, and then trailed off, because he wasn't sure if it was really okay or not. "He told me he wasn't coming back."

"None of us were," said Spike. "And yet here I am."

Connor didn't ask how Spike had survived. It didn't matter. Instead, he asked, "What are you doing here, Spike?"

Spike took a newspaper clipping from his pocket and handed it to Connor. "Read it and weep."

It was an article about mysterious disappearances - literal disappearances, as in, people vanishing right before the eyes of astonished passersby who, apparently, could think of no better response than to call _The L.A_ _Scoop._

"Spike," said Connor carefully, "This is a tabloid." He continued scanning the article. "I mean, their working theory is alien abduction."

"Well that's just stupid," said Spike. "There's no such thing."

"Then why -"

"Because I saw one," Spike interrupted. "Downtown L.A, last week. Seedy looking bloke, crossing the street, just vanishes."

Connor looked at the bottle, which was completely empty now. ""Were you by any chance drunk at the time?"

"M'not drunk now." Spike paused. "Well, maybe a little, which is really impressive for a vampire. But I saw what I saw. And this was no ghost. Looked solid, and smelled human. Living human," he clarified. "Right until he went poof."

It was absurd, of course, but not more absurd than Spike's existence, or Connor's, for that matter.

"Why did you come to me?"

"Family reunion?" tried Spike, but Connor wasn't buying it. "Okay, so it turns out I'm useless for work like this. Give me a mugger in an alley, I'm your vamp. but unless someone works some mojo to tell me who to hit or gives me the keys to an evil law firm with more resources than a mid-sized country, I'm not much good."

"And you think I am."

"Dunno," said Spike. He pulled out a keychain and dangled it - rather obnoxiously - in Connor's face. "Want to find out?"

Connor hesitated. He had class tomorrow, and this was stupid. As stupid, maybe, as welcoming in a tipsy vampire at 3 AM just because he asked reasonably nicely. His parents - all of them - would tell him to close the door in Spike's face and never look back. But Connor was tired of wondering about what his life could have been, once upon a prophecy. And, he thought, looking around the nearly empty room, school aside, there wasn't much keeping him here.

"Okay," he said, "but I'm driving."

Spike tossed him the keys. "Let's just hope you get your brains from Darla," he said, and Connor followed him out into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

"The first thing we have to do," said Connor once they were on the road - in a car much nicer than Connor had expected - "is talk to the reporter. He'll be able to get us the names of the other witnesses. That will let us confirm whether or not the sightings are specific to a particular time and place."

"Ok. What's our in?" asked Spike. "With the reporter, I mean. Not all that used to doing this without violence."

Connor assumed he meant before the soul, but didn't ask. "I'm a journalism major at UCLA writing a paper about the truth-value of tabloids."

"Arguing that tabloids should be taken more seriously," said Spike. "Always good to butter them up first." It was, Connor had to admit, good advice, even if Spike did sound as if he might just be talking about actually buttering up a victim before a meal.

"So who will you be?" asked Connor.

"A classmate," said Spike, as if that were a very stupid question. Connor raised an eyebrow. "I'll have you know I wasn't even thirty when I was turned."

"Well, then you really need to take care of yourself better, because you look like you're pushing forty now."

"Fine, I'm a poor immigrant trying to better himself with some night classes. That work?"

"Fine," said Connor, "but you can't call yourself Spike."

"William, then."

That name didn't seem to fit. Unless...

"Is that your real name?"

"Is Connor yours?" returned Spike.

"Actually, yes," said Connor. "Angel named me."

It was also an old Reilly family name. Connor wondered if that was part of why they had been chosen. Or if that had really been a family name at all - his grandfather's name was Peter, and Connor didn't know further back than that. He turned on the radio, and for most of the rest of the trip, he and Spike only spoke to argue over the music. Spike wanted the Sex Pistols, Connor turned on th Stones, and they finally compromised on The Grateful Dead without commenting on the irony.

As they drew closer to LA, Connor asked, "How are you getting in the building?" The car, Spike had explained, had special glass, but outside, it was broad daylight.

"Got some kit," said Spike. "Don't worry. It's subtle."

Even just having met Spike, Connor didn't think that was likely, but when the time came to make the short walk from the car to the _Scoop _office, Connor had to admit he could have done worse than the absurd but not impossible motorcyclist's get-up. Their pretext for being there was accepted, and in very little time, they were in a meeting with Dale Saunders, who, as Spike had predicted, seemed thrilled to be taken seriously, for once.

"You wouldn't believe the stuff that goes on here," he was saying. "Most of it I'm just reporting, but I've seen some crazy shit, you know? I once met a girl with bright blue skin, and sometimes at full moons, I hear howling. And once-." His voice got lower, as if he were sharing a particular confidence. "I met a guy I'd bet my life was a vampire."

"No," said Spike, perfectly deadpan. "What gave it away?"

"The fangs," said Dale, confidently. "And the tail, of course."

Spike looked downrightt offended at this display of ignorance, and Connor jumped in before he could start a lecture on the identification and classification of demons.

"Actually, there was one article that we really wanted to talk to you about," he said. Spike, still fuming silently, produced the article.

"Oh." Dale looked pleased. "That was some of my best work. I had nine separate sources for that!"

"That's great," said Connor. "As part of our paper, we'd like to verify your sources - you know, to show how your methods are as rigorous as any other paper's."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," said Dale. "We take anonymity very seriously here at _The_ _Scoop. _In fact, even the names that appear are pseudonyms. Some of our sources give us a lot of material, and it might damage credibility if they were quoted too often." He said this proudly, as if this represented the height of editorial discretion.

"But that means you must keep a record of their real names," said Connor.

"Sorry," said Dale, getting up to leave. "It was greating meeting you, but a reporter protects his sources. Write that in your essay," he added.

Connor was just working out another argument when Spike said "Oh, bugger this," and changed into his vampire face. Connor had his hand on Dale's mouth before he could scream. A minute later, they were walking out with a list of names and addresses.

"We could have found another way," said Connor.

"Maybe. But this way was fastest," said Spike, "and it isn't like anyone will believe him if he prints it. Besides," he continued, "my way was more fun.

* * *

On the way to the first address, Connor asked Spike where he'd gone, after the war didn't end.

"Have to be a tad more specific," the vampire had noted. "I've been involved in a surprising number of world-not-endings."

"You know which one I mean."

Spike didn't answer right away. "Travelling," he said finally.

Connor didn't ask where to, settling instead on "Why did you come back?"

"It was a brave new world over there," said Spike, "and too many people in it."

There were no further questions.

* * *

The first two visits confirmed that the sightings - the two mens' and Spike's, in addition to the one described at length in the article - had all happened within a mile of each other. All of them had been in the area at various times of night for various reasons, and all described distinctly different people disappearing into air. The third person they visited was a lunatic who claimed no less than two dozen encounters with the supernatural. Spike listened avidly until the woman mentioned a leprachaun sighting, at which point he quickly ended the interview.

The fourth had a slightly different story. "She was a blonde woman," he said when asked to describe the vision. "And she was sort of out of focus. Like a ghost."

"He could be remembering it wrong," said Spike afterwards. "Coming up with a detail that makes sense with what he saw."

The fact that a ghost was, in this case, the more sensible explanation, thought Connor, wasn't exactly comforting. There was something else, however, that he had noticed about the story.

"You might be right," he said. "But his is also the earliest sighting by two weeks. And the later witnesses all described the figures as completely normal looking. Solid, as you said."

"So?" said Spike.

"So maybe," said Connor "whatever is doing this is getting stronger."

* * *

The next man wouldn't let them in. "Two-faces," he hissed, after cracking open the door, "Murderers," and slammed it shut.

"There are two of us, you know," said Spike. "How many faces did he expect us to have?" But Connor wasn't laughing.

"How did he know?"

"Sometimes mad people - they know things," Spike said. "Dunno why, but I've seen it before. He could probably see right through the spell."

He was just crazy, thought Connor. Paranoid. Probably delusional. He could have shouted anything.

Spike was watching him closely. "He might've just meant Sahjan," he said. "You did kill him."

"Do you believe that?" asked Connor, bitterly.

Spike didn't answer.

* * *

The car ride to the next home was long and uncomfortable. Connor couldn't stop thinking about what that man had seen when he looked at him. He wondered if Spike was thinking of the same thing. He started considering Spike more seriously than he had yet done. Whatever he said, Connor was far from sure that Spike couldn't have done this just as well on his own, if he'd really wanted to. instead, he'd come for Connor, claiming him as family. Had they met at an early point in Spike's undeath, Connor thought, he might well have sired him on a whim.

What did Spike see when _he _looked at him? Was it Angel? Darla? A freakish parody of people he had cared for, in his own way, or a reminder of a past he wished to forget?

"What was my mother like?" he found himself asking, although a moment earlier he had had no notion of doing so.

"Evil," said Spike, too easily. "But then, we all were." Connor checked his mirrors, and was surprised, though he shouldn't have been, not to see Spike's reflection in the seat beside him.

"I'm pretty sure you could say more than that," said Connor. "And I have a right to know."

"And what, exactly, would you like to know? There was no humor in Spike's tone, now. "How she liked children best, because they screamed more? Or how she used to get off on watching Angelus torture his victims, just before he killed them?"

"She didn't have a soul," said Connor, whether to defend her or to remind himself, he wasn't sure.

"Neither did I, first couple of times I helped save the world," said Spike. "We all make our choices." He turned the radio back on, and then shut it again. "I'll tell, you, though. Darla was a vicious bitch, and she'd do anything to save her skin. If she staked herself for you, she must have felt something more powerful than I ever saw her feel."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?" said Connor.

"No. It's supposed to be true," Spike answered. "Now stow your angst. We're here."

* * *

There was something off about this one. Connor sensed it right away. Her story began like all the others. She had been walking in downtown LA after dark. She'd seen someone walk toward her and then vanish. But the others had been effusive, relieved to speak about what they had seen. Ana Fernandez's answers were short, almost guarded.

"What did the person look like?" said Connor.

"I didn't get a good look."

"Well, was it a male or a female?" he pressed.

"Female," she said.

"Tall or short?" It didn't matter, really, given that they had already verified that the sightings were all of different people with no obvious commonality, but he wanted to keep her talking. "What was she wearing?"

"She was," Ana began. "She was..." She started crying. "It was me," she said. "She was me."

They gave Ana a few minutes to calm down. It was, predictably, Spike who first grew impatient.

"Look, I don't know what you saw. But you're fine now, aren't you? So you can answer some more questions, and maybe we can figure this all out."

Connor was surprised; this was more sensitivity than he'd expected, and Ana seemed to be responding to it.

"Okay, Ana," said Connor. "Why don't you take me through your night, starting with the...encounter, and working backwards."

Spike looked at him quizically, but this was a memory technique Connor had come across not long ago.

Ana spoke. She described her terror at the sight of her doppelganger, at watching her vanish. She went back to her evening at the club - she'd only had a drink or two, so really, it couldn't have been that, and besides...

"Wait a second," said Spike. "What did you say the name of this club was?"

"Harmonica's," she said. "It just opened about six months ago."

"Thank you," said Spike. "Connor, let's go."

"Am I going to be abducted?" moaned Ana. "Was it my future?"

"You'll be fine," said Connor, hoping it was true. "Spike, what -?"

"I'll explain in the car," said Spike.

"You know what this is?"

"Not yet," said Spike, "but I think I know who."


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to Lynnenne and David for reviewing!

Chapter 3

There was only one rule to remember at Harmonica's: don't sing. Harmony had thought it would be easy, especially with all the rules she had to learn when she worked for Angel. Don't feed on humans. Don't kill humans, even if you don't feed on them. Don't kill demons because you'd only get it wrong, Harmony, and didn't I tell you not to bring me my blood until after my werewolf slut is back in her cage for the night? So she tried, she really did, to remember about the singing. But then she would find herself belting out Britney Spears in the shower, or humming Christmas carols (she might be evil, but Harmony loved Christmas) or singing along with the music that played incessently during their peak hours.

"Harmonica, you're killing me," Lorne would say, and Harmony would stop, even if it was a little insulting. Harmony had a _great _voice. But lack of musical taste aside, Lorne was a really good boss; he'd even named the bar after her. She was so lucky to have run into him as she was leaving Wolfram & Hart.

"Lorne!" she'd squealed. "Are you betraying Angel too?"

"Just getting out of Dodge, Muffin," he said, which was strange because they were in LA and she didn't know of a place called Dodge. Later, she realized that she still didn't know if Lorne was betraying Angel or not, and decided that he was, because if Lorne was doing it too it couldn't be too bad and Harmony only wanted to be a little evil, really. They had left LA at first, but then they ran into trouble with those people in Utah who hadn't ever seen a green person before - well, neither had Harmony, before Lorne - and tried to attack him. He cried, a little, after that, even though he hadn't gotten hurt and Harmony hadn't even had to kill any of them, since they ran away as soon as she went into game face. But Harmony thought she understood, since it always made her a little sad, too, when people ran away at the sight of her face, which everyone had always said was so pretty, and Lorne didn't even have a human face to wear like she did.

They had gone back to LA after that, where people were used to strange sights and Lorne had made something of a name for himself even in the non-demon world. They'd opened Harmonica's in the summer to a mostly human clientele, and it turned out that Fred was right - there were loads of straight guys who were totally into her. She hadn't even killed any of them except that one, and it was an accident, really it was - he bit her first, and she just forgot she couldn't do the same. Harmony would have sired him to make up for it, but no one had ever taught her how. She got rid of the body without telling Lorne, since she had a feeling he didn't want to know. He never asked her what she was living on, though she could have told him she only ever fed on old or really annoying people; she was evil but she didn't have to be _mean. _That was _so _high school, and Harmony was better than that now, just like Cordelia before she died.

But Lorne didn't ask. Some days, he didn't even talk much. Certainly not to the customers; he let Harmony do most of that. And she was grateful, really, she was. So she tried her hardest not to sing.

* * *

Spike hadn't thought much about Lorne since the last battle. Actually, he hadn't thought much about Lorne _before _the last battle either. Lorne was a decent enough bloke, but there was something, Spike had thought, a bit trivial about him - a bit trivial, and a bit sad. Pathetic, he would have said, before the soul, heading up the bloody _entertainment _division, of all things, and acting as if it actually mattered, as if it wasn't just a token to make Angel feel better about himself for bollocking up Lorne's life.

Thinking about him now, Spike considered just how cruel it had been of Angel to ask Lorne, of all people, to kill Lindsey. It was - far more than killing Drogyn - pure Angelus. It had needed to be done, but asking Lorne, whatever Angel might have told himself, was at least as much a final, twisted joke against Lindsey as it was a matter of necessary division of labor; Spike himself could have taken out the bastard _and _dealt with the Fell Brethren and still made it to the alley with time to spare. Hell, _Harmony _could probably have done it, as long as you promised she could feed on him as part of the bargain.

Lorne deciding not to meet them in the alley was about as much backbone as the demon had ever shown, as far as Spike was concerned, and more than he had expected of him. It seemed, however, that they were paying for it now. Spike didn't think the man had it in him to cause deliberate harm, but, as they had seen at the Halloween party last year, Lorne could do quite enough damage with the best intentions, and it would be best not to assume that a demon operating a club named after bloody Harmony Kendall - and probably _with _her, to boot- had such pure motives. In any case, it couldn't be a coincidence. Those stupid nicknames had grated on Spike, and "Harmonica," for some reason, seemed the most egregious, maybe just because Harm was so damn tickled by it. Now there were mystical doings in a club of that name, and Spike had spent too much time being jerked around by the Assholes That Be to assume it was chance.

He told Connor only as much as he needed to know, filling him in on the details of Lorne's powers and the kind of thing that could happen if they went wrong. This didn't seem quite like what had happened last year, but then, Lorne wouldn't be so stupid as to have his sleep removed again, and who knew what else he might have let Wolfram and Hart do to him before they closed shop?

He didn't tell Connor about Lindsey. Spike wasn't sure why he was protecting Angel - he had been blunt enough about Darla - but somehow this seemed different. For one thing, right now he needed Connor thinking, not brooding, and if he was anything like his father, it would be easy enough to throw him into a right sulk. The kid's instincts were good, although Spike wasn't sure how he'd do in a fight he wasn't literally born to win, not that he thought it was likely to come to that. But he was also more screwed up than he'd initially realized. Even if the Reillys were candidates for sainthood, Connor had enough Mommy and Daddy issues to fund the retirements of several psychiatrists, and that wasn't even adding false memories or finding out you were possibly part-demon to the equation.

Well, hopefully they'd clear this up with Lorne and he could get the kid back to school soon enough. Spike was the last person to play the mentor, and in this case, denial might be a good thing. For now, however, they had an embittered empath to interrogate.

Spike walked into the club, Connor right behind him.

"Spike!" said Harmony. "You're alive. Well, not _alive _alive, because that would be kind of weird, but you're here!"

"Save it, Harm," said Spike. "We're here to see Lorne."

"He doesn't like to be disturbed," said Harmony. "But if you give me a number I can take a message and he'll -"

"He's in there," said Connor, pointing to a back room. Spike was surprised; Connor must have inherited some vampire senses, in addition to the strength, if he could pick that up.

Over Harmony's objections, Spike smashed the door in. Lorne looked up from where he had been sitting, nursing a drink and, apparently, listening to some bloody awful disco. He took in Spike, and then Connor.

"I told you not to come looking for me."

"I didn't," said Spike. "But Connor and I are on a case, and it turns out that of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world, it so happens that we had to walk into yours."


	4. Chapter 4

"I had nothing to do with it," said Lorne, not for the first time. Connor and Spike had quickly briefed him on the situation, and Spike was explaining - rather poorly, Connor thought - why he assumed the disappearances and Lorne's club were linked.

"Like you had nothing to do with Charlie-boy pissing in Angel's chair last Halloween?" shot back Spike. "What other little gifts did you take from Wolfram & Hart?"

"If you think that I would take _anything _from them after Fred - "

"Didn't mind drawing a salary, if I remember, which is more than I ever took."

"Oh, and I suppose you bought a Mercedes with necrotempered windows at Gene's Used Cars?"

"I _need_ that car if I want to move freely without going all crispy. You _liked _your Hollywood flat and lunch dates with Angelina Jolie. There's a difference."

"Look, I don't know what's going on, Spike, but I'm telling you, it wasn't me," said Lorne. "This club isn't like Caritas. I don't read auras. I don't even let people sing. Ask Harmony!"

"Right, because if want a reliable witness, I'm going to pick a soulless demon who didn't have two braincells to rub together even before she -"

"A demon can hide its face," interrupted Connor, "but its nature will always show." His voice was toneless.

"Well that was irrelevent and oddly bigoted," said Spike.

"It's something Holtz told me once," said Connor. "And he was right. Think about it: you've got a soul now, right?"

"You'd better hope so."

"See, right there. That's what I mean. You've got a soul, so you don't feed on humans and you actually fight on the right side, when it comes down to it. But soul or not, you still have the instincts of a vampire. When that reporter wouldn't give us the names, your first move was to threaten him. I'm betting humans still smell pretty tempting to you. And, no offense, but a lot of the time, you're kind of an asshole."

"Yeah? What of it?"

"The point is you're still finding a way to express your demon side. Even Angel - I saw his face when he was fighting Hamilton. He was enjoying it."

"Look, kid," said Spike. "I'm thrilled that you're working through something here, but let's deal with what we have to deal with and you can call in to Dr. Laura a little later, okay?"

"And you call _Angel _stupid?" How did he not see it? He turned to Lorne. "Reading auras when people sing is a talent. But an empath demon is what you _are. _You can't just turn it off.

"So say I do get flashes of insight, sometimes," said Lorne. "Where's the harm?"

"Here, boss," piped up Harmony, who had apparently been listening at the door the entire time. Everyone ignored her.

" The harm, you sad prat, is that by bottling all this up - no pun intended," Spike added, nodding toward the bottle at Lorne's desk, which contained something much stronger than a Sea Breeze, "you've started projecting. All that psychic energy has to go somewhere."

"So you mean that the vanishing people -"

"Are potential versions of your customers," said Connor. "You're seeing possible futures for them, consciously or not, and projecting so strongly that they're becoming physical manifestations."

"Oops?" said Lorne. "But still, it isn't like I've hurt anyone. Scared a few people, maybe, but that's it."

"That's it for now," said Connor. "But we have reason to believe the manifestations are getting stronger. At first, they just looked like ghosts. Now, they look like regular people. Maybe after a while, they'll stop disappearing entirely."

"And there's precious few people I can tolerate one of," said Spike, "let alone two."

Two-faces.

Connor brushed the memory aside. "The good news is that this should be pretty easy to fix. Just start having people sing for you again, and it'll be fine."

"Well that's a little anti-climactic," said Lorne wryly.

Someone screamed. The door banged open. Connor, who was closest, instinctively ran to the woman who had just fallen backwards to the floor. It was the female vampire Spike had called Harmony. A stake was protruding from her chest. It should have been a killing blow. Instead the stake, which had looked deadly solid just a moment ago, flickered for a moment and vanished.

"What kind of magic is this?" said a very familiar voice.

* * *

Connor looked at himself. He had seen this in the memories, this other self, recollected but still unfathomable. The man - boy - _Stephen _- had longer hair than Connor did, and was dressed for the hunt. Connor looked quickly at his ankle, and, sure enough, saw the outline of a dirk under his pantleg, or rather the approximation of a pantleg created by the hanging furs. These, Connor noted, were from Earth animals.

"Who are you?" demanded Stephen, deftly getting his hands on the knife without ever taking his eyes off Connor. It looked real enough, and Connor knew he couldn't count on having Harmony's luck.

He heard Spike move behind him, and so did Stephen, who aimed a stake at the vampire before Connor was even aware he was holding one. Spike dodged, but not quickly enough. It caught him in the thigh, and he fell to the ground, swearing.

"Lorne," said Connor. "Help Spike, and stay back. Spike," he added. "_Sing._"

"_Early one morning, just as the dawn was rising..."_

Stephen made a run at Connor, knife poised. Connor grabbed his hand, and sent him reeling back with a roundhouse kick. Spike paused in his singing and shouted "Connor!" Both of them looked up. Spike rolled Lorne's glass to Connor across the floor. He broke it against the table, and held the largest piece out in front of him. Stephen had recovered the blow, and was evidently preparing to rush Connor again.

"Wait!" shouted Connor. He thought quickly. "You can't kill me. I'm...I'm you! In the future! Kill me, and you won't last much longer."

Stephen paused. "You're lying. I'd never spend my time around these filthy demons."

"Yeah? I'm pretty sure you already know Lorne. And don't forget Cordelia."

"Don't talk about Cordy!" Irrationally, Connor felt himself feeling guilty. Why wasn't he gone yet? Spike's aura had to be interesting enough to banish ten dopplegangers. In the meantime, he had to keep stalling. They might both be armed now, but Stephen was the better fighter.

"Okay. Let's just - we need to figure this out," he said, hoping that Spike and Lorne would have the wherewithal to play along. "Maybe we can call in the witch who brought Angel's soul back. Willow."

"No," said Stephen. "No more magic."

"Maybe Faith..."

"No," he repeated. He moved closer to Connor. "Maybe you are my future. But you know what?" he said. "I don't care."

He made another run at Connor. This time, Connor had his own weapon, and didn't immediately go on the defensive. He dove at Stephen, who pulled Connor to him so that they fell to the floor together. Connor's shard of glass shattered. He reached for the dirk, and after a struggle, managed to send it careening across the floor. Spike picked it up.

"Connor," he shouted. "You need to sing. He's too strong. It has to be you."

"_Three blind mice_,"Connor sang. He flipped Stephen over, gaining the advantage. "_Three Blind Mice." _Stephen punched him in the jaw. "_See how they run."_

"_Row, row, row your boat," _sang Stephen. "_Gently down the stream_._ Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily-_" he stood up, leaving Connor at his feet. He began to kick at him. _"Life is but a dream."_

Connor grabbed his leg, pulling with all the strength he had never known he'd had. _"Oh, Jasmine," _he began. Stephen took a step back. "_Oh you came and you gave without taking." _Connor stood up. "It isn't working," he heard Lorne say, somewhere in the distance, but Connor wasn't finished. "_So I'll love you forever..."_ He knocked Stephen to the ground. He still showed no sign of disappearing.

"Spike," he shouted. "The knife!"

Spike tossed it to him, and he grabbed the handle. Before Stephen had time to recover, Connor had plunged it into his stomach.

Vaguely, he was aware of motion, as Spike, still limping slightly from the stake wound, made his way to Stephen. Connor turned away until, a moment later, Spike called out to him.

"Connor," he said, but it was the boy on the floor who answered. "Dad?" he said.

Connor went to him. He was fading, but not in the way Connor had expected. His eyes were blinking rapidly, and his breath was harsh.

"He isn't you," said Spike quietly.

"Yes he is," said Connor. He took the boy's hand. Spike stepped aside.

"It's okay," he said to him. "It'll be okay."

"Cordy," he gasped. "Is she -?"

"She's fine," Connor lied. "They're all fine."

"It hurts."

"I know." He wrapped his arms around him. "Rest now."

He began to hum. It sounded like a lullaby. Irish, he knew, somehow. He couldn't remember ever hearing it before.

Connor closed his eyes. When he opened them, his arms were empty.


	5. Chapter 5

This is it! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed.

Chapter 5

"Why didn't the singing work?" Spike asked Lorne, even though he thought he already knew. He kept his voice low, but it didn't matter, really: under normal circumstances, Connor could have heard him anyway, and at the moment, he probably wouldn't have noticed if Spike had screamed it directly in his ear.

"Because they were both real," said Lorne. "The aura is the same, more or less, but there's two versions of Connor in there. The - the other one, he's not just a possible version of Connor. He _is _Connor. Just not this one, anymore. Angel made sure of that."

"Still there, though," said Spike. "Just under the surface."

There was a faint moan from the floor as Harmony returned to consciousness. Lorne ran to her.

"Don't scare me like that again, Kitten," he said, helping her to a stand.

"Lorne!" said Harmony. "I'm not evil anymore!"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Go back to sleep, Harm."

Harmony glared at him. "You're just jealous that you aren't the only good vampire around now I sacrificed myself for Lorne."

"You what?" asked Lorne.

"I sacrificed myself for you," said Harmony proudly. "He was coming, and I stood right in front of the door, and I said 'You're not getting past me, mister' and so he staked me. I saved you!"

Spike very much doubted that. Even aside from Harmony's apparent confusion over intention and execution - and assuming, which he didn't, that her story was true - there was no way Connor version 1.0 would have spared Harmony whatever she had done. Harmony, however, was still absorbed in the story of her heroics.

"That's why I didn't get dusted," she finished. "It was a reward from the Powers. Aren't you going to say thank you?" she asked, turning to Lorne.

Lorne didn't answer right away. Finally he said "Harmonica? Would you mind singing for me? Just for a minute?" Spike was no empath, but he thought Lorne actually seemed nervous as Harmony started screeching some idiotic pop ballad. After a moment, he smiled.

"She's telling the truth," Lorne said to Spike. "Or, at least, she thinks she is."

"I'm suddenly feeling a lot less special," said Spike. "I mean, if bloody _Harm _can grow as a person..."

Harmony finished her song. Spike turned away as Lorne began praising her lavishly for the performance, just in time to see Connor stand up and come to meet him.

"Ready to go home?" Spike said, hoping that he sounded casual.

"I'm not going," said Connor.

"Don't be stupid, "said Spike.

"I'm not," said Connor. "It's just - I've remembered something." He kneeled down, and picked up a few shards of glass still littering the floor. "Before Wolfram & Hart, Angel had this hotel," he said. "I worked there with Fred and Gunn one summer, after I buried Angel in the ocean. We didn't have Cordy's visions, or Angel. But people came to us with problems. Haunted apartments. Demon possession. Curses. And we solved them, when we could."

Spike sighed. "That was before, when there weren't armies of slayers out there. You mentioned Faith? Multiply her times a few thousand, and you've got some idea of how much the world needs a couple freelancers."

"It needed us today," said Connor.

Lorne spoke up. Spike hadn't realized he was listening. "Hate to rain on your parade, Junior Mint," said Lorne, "but if you're thinking of using this place, I've got to remind you that I'm not playing that game anymore. Like I told your dad once, I don't judge. I'm not forgetting that again."

"Bollocks," said Spike. "If nothing else, you judge Angel for what he made you do. And there's a reason you were scared of what you'd hear if you let Harmony sing."

"I'd never ask you to do anything you didn't want to," said Connor. "We'd just be helping people who needed it. That's all."

"I've heard that tune before," said Lorne. He smiled, a bit grimly. "But what can I say? I've always been a sucker for the classics."

"So you're in?" said Spike.

"_We're_ in," said Lorne, pointedly.

Connor looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "Happy to have you," he said, and put out a hand for Harmony to shake. Lorne's smile became more genuine, as if Connor had passed some crucial test.

"You too, Spike?" he said, and Spike realized he had never actually agreed to anything.

"Never been known for making good choices," said Spike. "Bit late to start now. Besides," he added, "you lot wouldn't last a week without me."

* * *

They drove back to Palo Alto that night. Connor hadn't changed his mind, but there were some things he wanted to get from his apartment. He also needed to stop home on his way back to LA for what was going to be a very difficult conversation with his parents.

"Got a confession to make," said Spike, when they'd been on the road for a while.

"Yeah?"

"I wasn't looking for you, the other night," he said. "There's a slayer at Stanford. Thought she might be up for a road trip to LA. Turns out, not every slayer's as big a believer in the power of change as Buffy."

"She tried to stake you?"

"Yeah. Managed to get out of it without hurting her, then went off and got shit faced."

"And that's when you decided to look me up?"

"Don't want to hurt your feelings, but I didn't even remember you existed."

"Then how - "

"I smelled Angel," said Spike. He was speaking quickly, as if this were his last chance to say it. "I smelled Angel, and I thought somehow he'd survived and gotten his bloody Shanshu after all."

"I'm sorry," said Connor.

"Don't be," said Spike.

Connor was struck with an uncomfortable thought. "It's kind of a big coincidence, then" he said. "You finding me like that. Do you think it was the Powers?"

"I hope not."

"If it was -"

"Then destiny can go screw itself," said Spike. "At least until it screws us."

It wasn't the most inspiring motto Connor had ever heard, but, he thought, maybe it would do.


End file.
